Chapter 67 - The Sovereign Fractures
Tristan watched in stunned disbelief as the global communication channels flared to life across his own monitors. The very infrastructure Arthur had spent decades building in total secrecy was now being weaponized against him in broad daylight.
"You're calling the authorities into Father's sanctuary?" Tristan snarled, stepping backward toward an auxiliary terminal. "This base contains forty years of black-market state contracts! If Interpol breaches these servers, Vance Holdings will be investigated into oblivion!"
"Vance Holdings isn't Arthur's criminal playground anymore, Tristan," I said, stepping past him to input a secondary routing command. "It’s mine. And I don't need black-market mercenaries to hold power."
On the tactical monitors, the live feeds from the outer perimeter showed four heavy Royal Navy helicopters appearing over the crashing waves of the North Sea, flanking a pair of coastal defense patrol cutters cutting through the choppy grey swells toward the facility's private harbor.
Down below on the compound floor, the private tactical contractors realized the game had changed. The cutting torches against the blast doors suddenly ceased.
Through the bulletproof observation window, I saw the commander of Tristan’s mercenary force raise his radio to his ear.
"They aren't loyal to you, Tristan," I said coldly, watching the men below begin to lower their weapons. "They are loyal to the bank account that funds their escrow accounts in the Cayman Islands. Alexander, execute Protocol Liquidation."
Alexander stepped forward with his own tablet, authorizing a sweeping freeze across the private defense syndicate's offshore payroll servers.
"Transaction confirmed," Alexander reported. "Fifty-two million dollars in mercenary retainer funds have been routed into an escrow vault under British Crown oversight. Their money is gone."
Over the intercom system, the voice of the mercenary commander echoed up to the observation deck: *"Tristan, our contract is void. Master trustee has severed operational payroll. Royal Navy gunboats are within five nautical miles. We are laying down arms and preparing for evacuation."*
Tristan slammed his fist onto the obsidian console, shattering the lower glass interface. "Traitors! Cowards!"
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"They aren't cowards," Liam said quietly, his eyes fixed on Tristan with an uncanny maturity. "They're just employees. You don't have an army, Tristan. You just had an allowance."
***
